


Wincest Journal

by megank49



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, First Kiss, Guilt, M/M, Prostitution, Self-Harm, Shame, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5894596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megank49/pseuds/megank49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam wants Dean, but could never tell him so he writes it all out in his journal. When Sam tries to kill himself, will Dean be able to assist him in healing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

January 1, 1999  
Happy New Year I guess. Watched the ball drop from shitty motel, USA. Dad’s helping Bobby with a hunt and Dean is probably banging some girl. He left at eleven and said don’t wait up. Yet here I am waiting. I think I will always wait for Dean. Earlier today he actually asked me if I wanted to do something for New Year’s. Even though I’m sixteen, he still treats me like a kid. When I said I wanted to go to a bar with him he told me I was too young. So here I am drinking a beer he left behind without my kiss. Bet he got his.

“Sammy, why the hell are you still up?” A drunk Dean asks as he stumbles into the motel room. He breaks the salt line, but I don’t say anything.

  
“Go to bed. You’re drunk.”

  
“Damn straight I am.”

  
“Nice night?”

  
“More like wet night.” He smirks, but flops down on his bed.

  
I grab my journal and follow his lead, settling back into the bed. I turn the lamp off and shove my journal under my pillow.

  
“Why are you in that bed?” A slurred voice asks.

  
“Because Dad isn’t here so we can have our own beds.”

  
“I miss your body.”

  
“Shut up perv and sleep.”

January 7, 1999  
Already been through one town and are checking into the next one. The snow outside looks beautiful. I wish I could just wander away in it. Instead I am stuck writing my third essay on The Mockingbird. Maybe I should just drop out of school. Dean did. But I’m not Dean and I actually want to finish school. I even want to go to college, not that anyone knows. Dad would kill me. Nobody is allowed out of this life. He’d ask what makes me so damn special. Nothing actually makes me special; I just want to get away. Maybe a different life is what I need to shake this depression. Nobody knows about the depression either. This family deals with depression by pretending it doesn’t exist, drinking, and having sex with anything that breathes. Yet another reason why I don’t fit into this family. I’ve never even gotten naked with a girl, let alone had sex. Instead, I just cut myself. Easy to blame those on the creatures in the night. If anyone even asks (no one actually does in this family). Sometimes I think about suicide, but I hold onto the hope that a new life will change this brokenness inside me. I cannot even say why I am depressed. I suppose it is a mix of everything and nothing all at once. An imbalance of chemicals, right? I love him, but he’d never love me back. This family hates me. I want a different life. I want to live in a house not a shithole for once. I wish I had known my mom. I hate that Dean is a sex magnet. I look like a three-year-old when I stand next to him. Are those enough reasons?

“Samantha, stop scrawling in your diary about your lost loves and help bring in the stuff.” Dean jokes, looming over me.

  
“Go away, Dean.” I reply, snapping the journal closed.

  
“No need to get pissy, Sam.”

  
I ignore him and get out of the impala, grabbing my bag on the way. The door to the motel is already open and I throw my bag on the nearest bed.

  
“Sam, what’s wrong?” Dean stops me with a hand to the shoulder.

  
“Nothing. Get off.”

  
Dean tightens his grip instead. “Sam, don’t think I haven’t noticed. You never talk to me anymore. You just spend all your time scrawling in that book.” He gestures to the journal, tightly gripped in my hand.

  
“I’m fine.” I shrug him off and flop down on the bed.

February 14, 1999  
Haven’t written in a while cause nothing has changed. I’m still depressed and Dean still ignores me. He hasn’t asked what’s wrong since the motel in Lebanon. That was over a month ago. He’s out at a bar again tonight. Alexis from school asked if I wanted to see a movie tonight for Valentine’s Day. I said no. There is only one person I want to be mine and he is out banging some girl without a name or face. I’m in a motel sipping on coffee with my feet propped up on the table, listening to Matchbox 20’s Back 2 Good. I’m wearing sweats with no shirt simply because I can.

February 15, 1999  
Back in the impala driving to some new hunt. Dean made it back this morning at like three smelling of sex and whiskey. I turned my back to him and wished for death. Yet like every other time I wished, I woke up this morning. Dean hasn’t actually talked to me at all this morning. I think he hates me now. I miss when we were little and he would pull me into his lap and read me stories. I miss when he made me mac and cheese with hot dogs. I miss when he would rub my back whenever I had a nightmare. Now I just roll over and reach for the knife under my pillow. I haven’t cut in over a week, which is pretty good for me. I’m not trying to quit, but I’m also not trying not to quit. I just don’t give a damn anymore.

“What are you writing?” Dean asks startling me. I slam the book closed just in case he was peeking.

  
“Nothing.” I pray my face isn’t flushed and I didn’t whisper out loud anything I was writing.

  
“Sam, you scribble in that damn thing all the time.”

  
“It’s none of your business.”

  
“You’re my brother, so yes it is.”

  
“Leave me alone.”

  
“Sam, why don’t you talk to me anymore?” Dean doesn’t look at me, keeping his eyes on the road instead, but I know he is hurt.

  
“Why do you care?” I snap back.

  
“What the hell is your problem?” He slams his fist onto the steering wheel.

  
“My problem?” I laugh. “My problem is that you are too busy shoving your dick into everyone to even notice I’m having a hell of a lot of problems.” My voice ends up cracking and I end up saying way more than I intended.

  
Dean pulls off the road and puts the car in park. “Sammy, don’t you ever think anyone in this world could possibly mean more to me than you do.”

  
“Prove it.”

  
“Fine. Let’s do something, just you and me soon. Okay?”

  
I just shrug.

March 3, 1999  
Dean kept his promise and took me to the festival in the town where we are supposedly hunting a werewolf (I personally just think it is a pissed off spirit, but no one listens to me). He won me a little stuffed duck and I slept with my hand curled around it last night. Dean didn’t even flirt once yesterday. I hope he isn’t getting sick or something. I had fun, but I also had to pretend I didn’t want to grab his face and kiss him every time the Ferris Wheel reached the top. Now I’m just scribbling out my life while Dean watches shitty daytime TV. He is wearing this stupid black tee shirt that hasn’t fit him in years and every time he moves I can see his muscles flex. I need to get the hell out of this room before I try to bleed out this desire.  
I’m wearing my favorite navy hoody to cover up the fresh cuts from three days ago. Dean told me he wished I would just leave. Dad and I had been fighting again. I don’t even remember about what. After Dad stormed out, Dean said I need to keep my mouth shut. I told him I refuse to be conformed to what Dad thinks I should be. That’s when Dean said I should just leave. My heart dropped when he said that and I took off out the door. I could hear Dean saying he was sorry, but it didn’t matter. He said what I know he has been thinking. Maybe I should just leave. Dad and Dean would be happier without me. Instead, I just carved up my arm and sat under a big oak tree and cried. I am such a girl. Just like they say. A damn little weakling. You know what? I’m gunna do it. I’m gunna leave.

I stand up and grab my bag off the ground. I throw the duck in along with my toothbrush from the bathroom.

  
“Where are you going?” Dean asks, eyes not leaving the screen.

  
“Out.”

  
“Be back by ten.”

  
I don’t say anything, but close the door and walk towards the highway.

March 5, 1999  
I hitchhiked all the way to California. I have always loved this state and I am currently digging my toes into the Pacific sand. Dean has called my cell phone exactly seventy-four times. I didn’t pick up to any of them and finally turned the phone off yesterday right before throwing it out the window in Nevada. The guy driving the truck didn’t ask me why, but I could tell he wanted to. I am not sure what I am going to do. I’m all alone in this big state, but for once I feel free.

March 8, 1999  
It’s over. My heart is broken within me and I just wish I could be happy. Dean will never love me. I called him, but he didn’t pick up. I left a voicemail saying I loved him and not to look for me. It’ll all be over soon. A man offered me $100 to have sex with him. Well at least I won’t die a virgin. I used that hundred to buy a vial of insulin. I’m sitting here on the beach with a needle and the vial. I’m ready to go, I have been for a while. I feel a bit better about dying cause Dean won’t find me. He’ll be able to live a happy life without his screwed up little brother tagging along. He doesn’t want me, he never has. Well here goes nothing.

“Dammit Sam, wake up.” I hear vaguely. My head is pounding and the room seems way too bright.

  
“Is this heaven?” I ask in a strangled and scratchy voice.

  
“No.” The voice answers through sobs.

  
“Great, I’m in hell.” I mutter. The voice keeps talking, but I ignore it. I try to sit up, but my pounding headache prevents me.  
……….  
“Sammy?” Dean is looming over my face with red eyes.

  
“Why are you dead?”

  
“Sam, you aren’t dead. You are in the hospital.”

  
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I tried to kill myself and I couldn’t even do that right. “Why are you here?” I don’t ask how he found me because Dean could find me in a sea of shapeshifters.

  
“Because you are.” He says softly.

  
“Yeah, well I don’t want you here.”

  
“That’s a lie.”

  
“How do you know?”

  
“I read this.” I open my eyes and Dean is holding up my journal.

  
“Don’t touch my fucking stuff.” I snatch it out of his hand before roughly turning over so my back is to him.

  
“Sammy, please talk to me.” I say nothing. “Okay, fine I’ll talk. Sam, I, I love you too.”

  
“Go away.”

  
“Just look at me. Please.” Dean’s voice is riddled with pain and I roll over, but stare at his shoulder. “Look at me.” I lift my eyes slowly up to his. “I love you.”

  
“I don’t need your pity.” I snap my eyes closed again.

  
“That’s not what this is. God, Sam I have wanted you since I was like fifteen.” I feel his warm hand take mine.

  
“That’s not going to fix this.”

  
“I know. But you will get better and I am going to be there every step of the way.” His hand squeezes mine and I let myself squeeze his back. “Sammy, let me take care of you.” His voice whispers.

  
“Okay.” My voice just as soft.

  
“Can I kiss you?” Dean asks, voice wavering.

  
I give a slight nod, but keep my eyes closed. I feel Dean press his lips against mine, soft and gentle. My very first kiss.

  
He pulls away as quickly as he appeared. “Shit, Sam I am so sorry.”

  
My eyes flutter open. “What? You are?”

  
“Yeah. You’re crying.”

  
I am? My hand pats my cheek and it is indeed wet. “Don’t leave me.”

  
“Never, Sam. Never going to leave you.” He takes my hand in his again and wraps our fingers together. I fall back asleep.


	2. Sam's Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The moment Sam leaves up until they are reunited at the hospital from Dean's POV.

March 3 2001  
No sign of Sam.

March 3 2016  
Called Sam, but he didn’t pick up. He probably got caught up reading some nerdy lore or something. I hope.

March 3 2151  
I drank two beers and read six articles on werewolves.

March 4 0000  
I think Sam’s gone. Okay, I know Sam’s gone. I called him again, but he didn’t answer. I dug through his stuff only to realize there is no stuff here. He took it. He’s gone.

March 4 0017  
Talked to Dad who flipped the fuck out and yelled at me for losing Sam. I didn’t lose him; I’d never lose him. He left.

March 4 0313  
I have drunk approximately half a bottle of whiskey and called Sam approximately 29 times. He has yet to answer.

March 4 0716  
Dad called and told me to start looking cause Sam isn’t going to come back. I left a note pinned under his bed telling him to call me in case he does. He won’t. I know he won’t. I just hope he isn’t dead.

March 4 1149  
Stopped for gas in who-the-hell-knows Montana. I called Sam again. And again. And again. I fear he is dead, but my heart would’ve shattered if he was.

March 4 1851  
Stopped for dinner and ordered a burger and a salad. It came and I remembered Sam was gone. Left a twenty on the table and ate nothing.

March 5 0416  
Pulled over on the side of I-90 and sleep for a restless few hours clinging to my cell phone.

March 5 1213  
Slammed on the brakes and a something slid out from under the seat. A map of California. Sam’s favorite state. I immediately do a u-turn.

March 6 1302  
Crossed the state line into California. Sam’s here. I know it.  
March 6 1514  
Been stopping everywhere and asking if anyone has seen Sam. No one has.

March 7 0129  
No sign of Sam. Burning through a bottle of whiskey in a bar that Sam would call the scum of the earth. I feel like the scum of the earth.

March 7 2348  
Made it all the way to the coast. Sam loves the ocean. I stare at it as I infuse my body with more alcohol. If Sam isn’t dead, I’ll probably be dead before him.

March 8 0437  
Fuck. I was too drunk for my cell to wake me up. A voicemail. Sam. He says, “Dean, I love you. You are probably looking for me. Don’t. You don’t need to. It’s over.” I throw up all over the parking lot. Sam.

March 8 0602  
Sam made the six am news. I stopped for a bottle of water and saw him. Boy found in coma-like condition on the beach of Palo Alto. He was holding a journal, vial of insulin, and a little stuffed duck. Sam. They thanked the young man for calling 911 when he was out for his morning jog. Sam. At Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital Stanford. I drop the water bottle and run to my car.

“Where is he? Where is the boy brought in from the beach?” I yell as I race through the doors of the hospital.

  
“Sir, calm down. How can I help you?” A woman in pink scrubs asks me.

  
“The boy on the news. That’s my brother, Sam.” I refrain from shaking her.

  
“Hold on, let me see if he can have visitors. You said he’s your brother?” She asks calmly.

  
“Yes. Where is he?” I slam my fist down on the desk she is sitting at.

  
She picks up the phone and calls who-the-hell-knows. “Can you verify he is your brother?”

  
“Ask him.”

  
“Sir, he is unconscious. Is there another way you can identify him?”

  
“He has a healed radius from a break when he was five, his eyes change color based on the light, but they are usually hazel, he has perfect dimples, he has a one centimeter scar on the inside of his left ankle from falling off his bike, he is six feet tall and weighs one-hundred and forty-nine point seven pounds. Is that enough?”

  
She relays the information. “Okay he is on the second floor in room 262. I can take you-“

  
I am off to the stairs before she can say another word. I race up them and briefly take in the bright painted walls and people milling about as I race towards Sam. I finally reach his door and throw it open, not expecting what is inside.

  
Sam is lying on a bed, deathly pale with a tube coming out of his throat and lines running in and out everywhere else.

  
“Sammy.” I whisper.

  
“Are you the brother?” A man asks. I turn around to see a man in a white coat whom I assume is the doctor. “My name is Doctor Jordan and I have been overseeing the care of your brother.”

  
“Is he going to…?” My voice trails off as the word die lodges in my throat.

  
“I honestly cannot tell you. He is a fighter, this brother of yours. If he makes it through this, we cannot tell if there will be any lasting complications.”

  
“Dammit, Sam.” I mutter.

  
“He is improving however. His heart rate has risen to fifty and his blood sugar is up to forty-five….”

  
The doctor trails on, but all I can see is Sam.

  
“You can talk and touch him. He may be able to sense you are here.” A nurse says gently.

  
I walk over to Sam. I lay my hand over his. It’s cold. I wrap his fingers in mine. “Heya Sammy.”

  
“He can hear you.”

  
“How do you know?”

  
“His heart rate jumped up to seventy when he heard you.”

  
“Sorry.”

  
“That’s good. Keep talking to him, it’s helping.” She smiles. “My name is Michelle by the way.”

  
“Dean.” I feel a slight squeeze of my hand. “Yeah, I’m here Sammy. I’m here.” I bend down and place a kiss on his forehead.

  
“Let me know if I can get you anything.”

  
I nod. I see Sam’s duck lying in the bed by his head. I bring it down and place it under his other hand. “Remember when I won this for you? That was the best night of my life.”

  
Under his duck I see his journal. I feel guilt for a moment, but open it anyways.  
……  
It’s been another 13 hours. Sam has had his breathing tube removed, but has yet to open his eyes.

  
“Dammit Sam, wake up.” I plead.

  
Sam opens his eyes and blinks. “Is this heaven?” His voice is soft and scratchy.

  
“No.” My voice cracks.

  
“Great, I’m in hell.” Sam mutters.

  
“Sam, you aren’t in hell.” I prepare to go on, but Sam is already asleep again. I simply continue holding his hand because I don’t know what else to do.

  
Thirty minutes later Sam grunts and thrashes before opening his eyes again. “Sammy?” I peer into his eyes.

  
“Why are you dead?” Sam asks.

  
“Sam, you aren’t dead. You are in the hospital.”

  
Sam closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Why are you here?”

  
Why am I here? Did he seriously just ask me that? “Because you are.”

  
“Yeah, well I don’t want you here.”

  
“That’s a lie.”

  
“How do you know?”

  
“I read this.” Sam opens his eyes and I hold up his journal.

  
“Don’t touch my fucking stuff.” He snatches it out of my hand before roughly turning over so his back is to me.

  
“Sammy, please talk to me.” He says nothing. I know it’s now or never. He needs to know how I feel. That he is not alone. “Okay, fine I’ll talk. Sam, I, I love you too.”

  
“Go away.”

  
“Just look at me. Please.” He rolls over. “Look at me.” He lifts his eyes slowly up to mine. “I love you.”

  
“I don’t need your pity.” He snaps his eyes closed again.

  
“That’s not what this is. God, Sam I have wanted you since I was like fifteen.” I take Sam’s hand in mine. If only he knew.

  
“That’s not going to fix this.”

  
“I know. But you will get better and I am going to be there every step of the way.” I squeeze his hand and he returns the motion. “Sammy, let me take care of you.”

 

“Okay.” Sam whispers.

 

I take a deep breath before I ask my next question, voice wavering. “Can I kiss you?”

  
Sam gives a slight nod, but keeps his eyes closed. I lean in slowly and press my lips onto his. His soft, warm, beautiful lips. Sam doesn’t move and when I pull back I see tears on his cheeks. “Shit, Sam I am so sorry.”

 

Sam’s eyes flutter open. “What? You are?”

 

No, I am not. I am sorry that I made him cry. Maybe this isn’t actually what he wanted. “Yeah. You’re crying.”

 

Sam’s hand pats his cheek as if he didn’t know. “Don’t leave me.”

 

“Never, Sam. Never going to leave you.” I take his hand in mine again and wrap our fingers together. Sam falls back asleep. I watch his chest rise and ask any and all deities to heal him.


	3. Bobby's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I didn't plan on writing any more of this story (I felt like it was done), but then this bit came to me. This isn't the end, but I don't know how much more there will be (however there will be more!). Sam's POV.

We’ve been at Uncle Bobby’s for a week. Dad stopped by on the way to a hunt. He stayed for two days, but Dean finally managed to convince him to leave. Dad kept asking what he did wrong. I didn’t have an answer then and I certainly don’t have an answer now.

  
Right now it’s one in the morning and I am standing outside Dean’s door. Nights are the worst for me, it is too easy for my mind to wander and the darkness only seems to blanket my secrecy. I am scared to open this door, but I am more scared to be alone right now. Dean’s been acting weird lately, like cooking me breakfast in bed, but sitting downstairs to eat his. I think he might hate me, God I hope not.

  
I slowly open the door, expecting to hear Dean’s snores. Instead a soft glow illuminates his face, which is hunched over a book.

  
“Dean, are you reading?” I have never seen Dean willingly read. He barely even reads when researching. “Does Dad need help with a case? He could’ve asked me.” They both are acting like I’m incompetent. The suicide attempt didn’t make me stupid.

  
“No, I uh, it’s not for Dad.” He shoves the book under his pillow, but after years of practice, I am able to snatch it out.

  
“Suicide and Depression: The Facts and Emotions” I read off the title.

  
“I’m trying to understand, Sam. I want to help you.” Dean doesn’t meet my eyes and his voice reveals the fear he must feel.

  
“Thank you.” I sigh as I set the book on the nightstand. “Can I…Can I sleep with you?”

  
Dean doesn’t answer, just scoots to the edge of the bed. I slip in beside him and he wraps his body around mine.

  
Our breathing falls into sync, but I know Dean isn’t sleeping. “Dean? Do you still love me?”

  
Dean rolls me over to look at him. “Of course. Why would you ever ask that?”

  
“No, like a romantic love.” I clarify.

  
Dean pauses, running a hand down my side before resting it on my hip. “Of course. Again, why do you ask?”

  
“You never kissed me again.” I say, deliberately keeping my eyes off his.

  
“My book said I needed to give you space. Let you make the first move. I mean, still show you I cared, but not be like, overbearing.”

  
“Dean?”

  
“Hm?”

  
“Your book is fucking stupid.” I say as I slam my lips onto his.

  
I can feel Dean smile against my mouth before kissing me back. “Sam?” He asks after breaking us apart with a slight duck of his head.

  
“Yeah?” I let my fingers run down his cheek, neck, and land on his chest.

  
“Can I ask you some questions? Like about your…?” He trails off, but continues rubbing his hand up and down my side.

  
“My suicide attempt?” I fill in.

  
“God, don’t say that word.” He closes his eyes and lays back.

  
“If you can’t say it, you shouldn’t be doing it.” I quip.

  
Dean is on me in mere seconds, pinning my body down with his, hand gripping my chin. “Samuel that does not apply to suicide. I don’t ever want to hear you talk like that again.”

  
“I’m sorry, De.” I say softly.

  
Dean releases me, but keeps his body pressed to my side. “Don’t be. The thought of you dead…you don’t know what that does to me.”

  
“You said you had questions?” I ask trying to change the subject.

  
“Yeah, but if you aren’t up for it, I’m not gunna push. Whatever you are up for or able to do is more than enough.”

  
“Dean, I’m not made of glass. I’m still me so stop treating me like a fucking invalid.” I snap.

  
“Language.” Dean mutters.

  
“I’ll watch mine when you watch yours.” Dean sighs. “Sorry again.”

  
Dean kisses my forehead. “Why?”

  
“Cause I yelled at you.”

  
“No, why did you do it?” He asks softly, hand tangled with mine.

  
“Dean, do you know what depression is?” I ask carefully.

  
“I’m not a fucking invalid.” Dean teases.

  
I roll my eyes. “I have it. Depression.”

  
“But why?”

  
“De, it’s not something that I asked for. There isn’t necessarily a cause either. I mean, life can be pretty shitty, but it’s more than that.” I sigh, struggling to put into words what I myself cannot understand.

  
“What’s it feel like?”

  
“It feels like an emptiness. I mean, there is sadness, but it’s more like a lack of emotion. It feels hopeless and pointless.” I give a half smile.

  
“Does anything help?”

  
Cutting. Journaling sometimes. “Erm.”

  
Dean strokes the scars on my closest wrist. “This.”

  
I nod. “I was thinking, maybe, if I could possibly try…” I trail off refusing to even mumble the words medication. This family needs meds for nothing. Although Doctor Jordan gave me a prescription for an antidepressant, Lexapro, but I haven’t gotten it filled yet. Mostly cause I cannot take ten steps without Dean appearing and hovering.

  
“Let’s go tomorrow.”

  
“To do what?”

  
“Fill the medication.”

  
“How the hell did you know?”

  
“Sammy, I know a lot more about you than you realize.” Is all he says.

  
“Like what?”

  
“You think Silence of the Lambs is one of the most intriguing books ever written, heat makes you touch your hair more, and you did something while you were gone that you regret.” He lists off.

  
“I don’t know what you are talking about.” I say calmly. Dean cannot find out about the sex. God, the sex. I had almost pushed it out of my mind.

  
“You also bite the left side of your lower lip when nervous and the top only when trying to appear calm.” He smirks as I release my upper lip. “You also blink faster.”

  
“That’s bullshit.”

  
“Then how do I always know when you are lying?”

  
I sigh, but a smile betrays that I am not angry. “Anyways, ask me one of your questions.”

  
“Okay. Where did you get the insulin?” I know he is starting off small.

  
“Bought it.”

  
“With what money?” I pause. “Get that upper lip out of your mouth.”

  
I shoot him a glare. “I got it from someone.”

  
“Who?”

  
I remember the man. The way his hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and his belt was heavy and clinked when the buckle was undone and-

  
“Sam, hey, look at me.” Dean’s voice breaks apart my thoughts and I realize I’m shaking.

  
I asked for it, but I never wanted it. I had wanted to stay pure for the hope that someday Dean might want me. Now he most certainly won’t. I roll away from Dean and mutter a goodnight.

  
“Sammy, what’d I say?”

  
I reach over and turn off the lamp.


	4. Sam's Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is short (sorry!), but I felt as though this was all it needed. More to come!

I’ve already been awake for twenty minutes, watching the way the sunlight tickles the edges of Sam’s face. He is pressing his face into the pillow with his arm flopped over my chest. Sixteen and the most goddamn beautiful thing I have ever seen. I remember two years ago when a girl at school told him that. She flipped her blonde hair over he shoulder and said he could’ve gotten a job as an underwear model. Sam’s cheeks flushed pink, but my heart flushed green and I had to refrain from hitting her. I didn’t want anyone looking at my Sammy like that except me.

  
“Stop staring at me.” Sam grumbles.

  
“Why?” I lean in close, pressing my lips to his hair. “You’re beautiful.”

  
Sam freezes. “No, no I’m not.”

  
“Fine, sexy.” I laugh. Sam doesn’t. “Talk to me.”

  
“Dean, I did something. Something that makes me ugly.” He whispers into the pillow.

  
I refrain from making a joke about what that something could be. His voice lets me know that to say anything wrong in this moment would cause a meltdown. “Impossible.”

  
Sam sits up and drags his body out of bed. Hair disheveled and boxers hanging low. I have to focus on his face so I won’t be staring where a brother shouldn’t be. He turns and stands with his back to me for minutes. I start to reach for him when I hear a meek, “De, I want to be honest with you.”

  
I swallow my heart, which has leapt from my chest. “You can tell me anything, Sam. You know that.”

  
Sam takes a few steps away from the bed and sits on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees. “I’m not a virgin anymore.” He mumbles.

  
I feel as if the floor is about to give way beneath me as my heart is in the clutches of despair. I choke down the pain because this is something Sam chose to do. “Well, uh, congrats.”

  
Sam’s head snaps up and his eyes flash. Obviously I said the wrong thing. “That’s what you have to say?”

  
“No?” I try. I have no idea what he wants me to say. Was I supposed to say that the fact that some other person had their hands on my baby boy makes me want to commit murder? I didn’t think he would’ve appreciated that.

  
“You know how I got that money? I whored myself out to some man. I didn’t want to die a fucking virgin, but I should’ve cause sex is not all you made it out to be.” By now Sam is on his feet, face red from shouting. “It’s not fun and it’s certainly not pleasurable.”

  
“Sam, calm down.”

  
“Don’t tell me to calm down.”

  
“Well stop shouting unless you wanna share with Uncle Bobby your sex life.” I reply. Sam doesn’t say anything so I continue. “Sam, sex is good if you want it. What that man did was illegal and is considered rape.”

  
“I know that Dean.” Sam snaps, resuming his pacing.

  
“Sit down.” I command. He does. I pull him into my lap and wrap my arms around him. “Sam, I don’t care what you have done or will do. I love you.”

  
“De.” Is all he says. I feel wet tears soak my shirt as he buries his face into it. I simply rub his back as he lets it all out. “De, he made me bleed.”

  
My skin crawls and my body locks up. “What the hell?”

  
“I’m okay now. I mean, my skin healed.” He says softly. “And he wore a condom so I didn’t get any weird diseases or whatever. I made him. Couldn’t even stomach the thought of him going bare.”

  
“That’s not how it’s supposed to be, Sammy. I’d never make you bleed.” I reply just as soft.

  
Sam shoots out of my arms. “You want to have sex with me?”

  
“No, I mean yes, I mean-“ I stutter.

  
“Not yet.” He fills in for me.

  
“Not yet.” I smile.

  
I kiss his lips and feel him smile. He crawls back into my lap, legs on either side of my thighs. I wrap an arm around his back and tangle a hand in his hair. Our lips meet again and there is heat, but no hurry. I let my tongue slide against his lips and they part. When my tongue touches his, I hear him let out a whimper. I push my tongue in further, trying to release more of those sounds.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's POV.

“Boys, I’m headed out on a hunt. You, obviously, are more than welcome to stay here.” Uncle Bobby says shoving books into a duffle bag.

  
“Thanks.” Dean replies.

  
I nod my consent.

  
“Bye boys. Take care.”

  
“We will.”

  
Uncle Bobby shuts the door and Dean turns to me. “Whatcha wanna do today?”

  
“Can we get the prescription filled? And I want to start back at school.” I say quietly, pushing my eggs around on my plate.

  
“Yeah of course.” Dean picks up his empty plate and rinses it off in the sink.

  
“Dean, can I be homeschooled?”

  
“Who’s gunna teach you?”

  
“I could teach myself. Please? I’m tired of being the new kid. Plus I could help you get your GED.”

  
“I don’t need it.”

  
I get up and place my half eaten meal in the sink. “Dean, you are smart. No matter what anyone has said.”

  
“Sammy, you know you are the smart one.” Dean ruffles my hair.

  
“Dean, please. Just think about it?” I plead. I want Dean to have his diploma. I know he thinks he is stupid and maybe this will help change his mind.

  
“Okay, yeah.” Dean smiles. “Let’s go get some meds.”

  
I return the smile. “Let me shower first.”

  
Dean nods and I go upstairs. Uncle Bobby has one of those old bathrooms with light green tile. His wife picked it out. I turn the handle and strip off my clothes. The boy looking back in the mirror is scrawny, all limbs. I shake my hair out of my eyes and climb into the shower.

  
“Hello, Sammy boy. Fancy seeing you here.” Dean smirks as he pulls the shower curtain back.

  
“Dean!” I squeak, turning quickly so he can’t see my front.

  
“Scoot over, I need a shower too.” I hear his pants drop to the floor.

  
“Wait your turn.” I hiss.

  
“And miss out on this?” I cannot see him, but I know he is gesturing with arms out wide.

  
“De.” I try, but fail. Dean climbs in and pushed me over. “Get out.”

  
“I changed your diapers baby, nothing I ain’t seen before.” He grabs the shampoo and squirts a glob into his hand before rubbing it into his hair.

  
Meanwhile I am still cowering in the corner. “That was like sixteen years ago.”

  
“And the only thing different is everything is bigger.” Dean replies. “And there is more hair.”

  
“Dean, you should’ve bought me dinner at least before you tried to fuck me in the shower.” I groan, surrendering and turning around.

  
“I’m just here to shower. No one said anything about sex.”

  
“Then what are you doing in here?” I ask, trying to grab the soap without actually touching any part of Dean.

  
“Since when can’t a man shower with his boyfriend?”

  
The soap drops. “Boyfriend?”

  
Dean reaches down to grab the bar and I know he is trying to hide his face when he says, “Yeah, boyfriend.”

  
“Dean, can we not do this right now?” I’d love for Dean to be mine, to be my boyfriend. I’m not stupid though. I know he will find someone better than me and move on. I’ll take what I can get and if not labeling makes it easier, then that’s what I’m going to do.

  
“Oh, uh, yeah.” His face falters and his hand rests on the curtain.

  
“No, stay.” I reach out and hold onto his arm. He relents and resumes soaping up his body.

  
We finish the shower with minimal touching even though my eyes did wander. I felt a blossom of pride when I saw that I was bigger then Dean. Sibling rivalry never dies. Although that’s all I have going for me. Dean is fucking gorgeous. His freckles reach everywhere and the way his skin ripples over muscles could make for a potentially awkward moment.

  
“Sam, stop staring at my ass and get dressed.” Dean smirks, tossing boxers at my head.

  
“I wasn’t staring.” I blush. “I was admiring.” I mutter.

  
Now it’s Dean’s turn to blush. “Shuttup.”

  
I pull the boxers on and go to reach for a shirt when a hand stops me.

 

“Dean?” I questioningly push away his hand.

  
“I want to see.” He whispers, running his fingers over my shoulder.

  
“See what?” I try to reach for my shirt again, but the fingers tighten.

  
“I need to see these. These scars.”

  
My eyes travel down to his touch and I see how the pads of his fingers run the length of them. “Stop.”

  
“What?” The hand pauses.

  
“Stop it, Dean. Get off.” I don’t want him to see them. I never wanted him to see them, let alone touch them. I grab his wrist and press his hand to his chest while yanking a Star Wars shirt over my head.

  
“Sam-“

  
“No, don’t you ‘Sam’ me. Mind your own damn business.” I snap.

  
Dean sighs and resumes getting dressed. “You ready?”

  
I nod and follow Dean out to the Impala. Dean clicks on the radio and I say nothing when Metallica pours out. I turn and look out the window, watching trees whip by. When my eyes start to hurt, I transfer them up to the puffy, white clouds. Cumulous.

  
I only notice we are there when the Impala turns off. I take a deep breath before asking if he will come. “De, will you-“

  
“Sammy, come on.” I follow him into the store. “I’m just gunna grab a few things. Meet you back at baby.”

  
I nod and head to the pharmacy.

  
“Hi, what can I do for you?” The woman asks. I slide her the paper. “Do you have insurance?” I shake my head no. She goes to the shelf and pulls off a bottle and writes a bunch of stuff down. “Okay then that will be eighty-seven dollars and twenty-nine cents.”

  
“I can’t afford that.” I whisper, embarrassed. She looks at me with a sad smile.

  
“There are government aides and-“

  
“I got it, Sam.” Dean interrupts and slides a credit card towards her. She thanks him, runs the number, and has him sign the receipt. She hands me a bag with the pills.

  
“Thanks.” I murmur as I walk away with Dean’s hand on my back.

  
“Anything for you.” Dean murmurs back.

  
“Did you get your stuff?” I ask. Dean nods and holds up a bag. “What’s in there?”

  
“Nothing.” I raise my eyebrows. “It’s a surprise.” I sigh, but sit down beside him. The ride back is as quiet as the ride there.

  
I see my moment though when Dean opens his door, momentarily leaving the bag unattended. I hop out of the car before pulling out two items that make me flush. “Why did you buy lube and condoms?”

  
Dean’s mouth gapes like a fish as he shuts his door. “I think you know why.” He finally stammers, completely different from his usual suave self.

  
“Is that all I am to you?” I snarl.

  
“What?”

  
“A quick fuck. A warm hole. Just another notch on the belt.” I yell as I flail my arms and blink away tears.

  
“What? No, God, Sam, no.” Dean is rushing at me, but I take a step back. He stops.

  
“Then why?”

  
“Well, I was hoping that someday-“ He starts.

  
“If you wanted someday you wouldn’t have bought it today.” I throw the items at him and they hit dead square on his chest.

  
“Sam, please.” Dean pleads.

  
“No, Dean. Leave me alone. Go find a whore somewhere else.” I spit out, turning and bolting to hide the tears on my face.

  
“Dammit, Sam.” I hear as feet chase after me.


	6. I'm Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's POV. I'm making this the end. I am not a huge fan of how this story went and I probably should've ended it after chapter 2. Oh well. If y'all have any ideas or requests, let me know. I'm always up for something new!

“Why did you buy lube and condoms?” I hear Sam ask as he opens the bag. His voice sounds wary and I instantly regret my purchase. I close my door trying to act more confident than I feel.

  
“I think you know why.” I say as calmly as I can.

  
“Is that all I am to you?” Sam is mad. Really mad. I can read all the signs: clenched jaw, fists by his side, head slightly angled as if to make him more threatening.

  
“What?” I need to fix this situation now or I am going to have a Sammy meltdown.

  
“A quick fuck. A warm hole. Just another notch on the belt.” Sam yells, flailing his limbs around. I can see tears forming in his eyes and this is quickly spinning out of control.

  
“What? No, God, Sam, no.” I move towards him, but Sam takes a step back.

  
“Then why?”

  
“Well, I was hoping that someday-“ I begin.

  
“If you wanted someday you wouldn’t have bought it today.” He throws the items at me and they hit dead square on my chest.

  
“Sam, please.” I plead.

  
“No, Dean. Leave me alone. Go find a whore somewhere else.” He spits out, turning and bolting.

  
“Dammit, Sam.” I yell. My feet pound after him as Sam turns blindly among the cars in Bobby’s yard. I lose track of him several times, but his running is anything but quiet so I quickly find him again. “Sam, stop.”

  
“Leave me alone.” Sam turns his head back for split second and I see it coming before he does.

  
“Sam, stop!” I yell, but it’s too late. Sam’s falling over the spare tire and is flat on the ground when I reach him. “Sammy.”

  
“Don’t touch me.” I hear him huff. He pulls himself into a sitting position, jeans torn and knee bloody. I reach out instinctively to assess him. “No.”

  
My hand hangs in the balance between us. “I just want to see if you’re okay.”

  
Sam glares at me. “I’m fine.” He stands up, slowly, and begins limping towards the house.

  
“Sam, let me help you.” He shakes his head, but sits down on the hood of the nearest car. He pulls the leg of his pants up, exposing a swollen and bruised ankle. “It’s just a sprain.”

  
“You don’t know that for sure.”

  
“Yes I do. You taught me to check.” He says quietly.

  
I don’t respond. Instead I pick him up, bridle style in my arms and walk back to the house. He says nothing, keeping his eyes to himself. When we arrive, I place him on the couch and get a bag of frozen peas out of the freezer.

  
“Here.” I place them on his ankle and sit on the floor, placing us at eye level. “I’m sorry.”

  
“Okay.” His eyes flit between the floor and mine.

  
“Sammy, I don’t think of you as anything except my little brother who is perfect and who is kind enough to love me back.” I reach my hand out and place it on his arm. “I’m more than happy just holding your hand and kissing you.”

  
“De?”

  
“Yeah?”

  
“I’m never forgetting you said that you fucking sap.” Sam smiles and I know I am forgiven.

  
“If you weren’t a cripple right now I’d so tackle you.” I punch his arm.

  
“You still can.” Sam says with a small smile.

  
“What’re you talking about?”

  
“You love me, like completely right?” I nod firmly. “Then grab the lube and we can wrestle.” Sam’s cheeks light up pink with the statement.

  
I choke on my own breath. “What?” I squeak.

  
Sam grabs my face and smashes his into it. “I want to have sex with you.”

  
“Shit, Sam.” I break our lips apart. “You go from calling me a whore and to stay away to asking for sex? Do I need to get the holy water?”

  
“De.” Sam pouts. “I just thought you wanted me for sex. But when you were carrying me back, I felt completely at peace in your arms. We are made for each other and that’s why you bought what you did. You know how much you love me and how much I love you. You just wanted to show me.”

  
I smirk. “Now who’s the fucking sap?”

  
“Shut up.”

  
“Make me.”

  
Sam’s lips find mine again and everything is made right.


End file.
